


Brewing Attraction

by mickeysbubblebutt (brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly)



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, One-Shot, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 12:24:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4564563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly/pseuds/mickeysbubblebutt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the prompt: Both are frequent customers and exchange witty remarks in the morning (an interaction they both secretly look forward too). </p>
<p>One day the café is immeasurably busy. Customer A has grabbed the last two chairs and is currently using one as a leg rest (a position Customer B frequently teases them about). </p>
<p>Customer B walks in and sees Customer A. Customer A smirks. Customer B simply walks over and wordlessly lifts up Customer A’s legs, sits down and places them back on their lap, orders both of their usual’s and then starts working on their laptop as if nothing has happened. Customer A is shell-shocked. Customer A is also very slightly aroused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brewing Attraction

Mickey Milkovich had a weakness for coffee. And not that weak ass Nestle coffee; no, it had to be something stronger than that watered down crap to wake Mickey up in the mornings. 

And in terms of things he needed to live, coffee came second only to air.

But only just.

Normally a cheap fuck–at least, that’s what Mandy called him–Mickey would always be willing to pay extra decent cup of joe. Which was why Mickey was stuck in some crowded hipster cafe that, under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t be caught dead in.

Although he’d be lying if he said the coffee was the only good thing about this place.

Making his way over to a free table, glaring threateningly at anyone who came too close to him and his five dollar caramel macchiato, and finally took a seat. Sprawling out, Mickey extended his leg onto the free chair at the table, and slowly sipped at his coffee. He glanced at the clock on the wall.

Almost nine o’clock. Not much longer to wait now.

And, true to form, a few minutes later a redheaded figure entered the coffee shop. 

Mickey couldn’t help the slight smile that tugged at the edges of his mouth. He had no idea what the guy’s name was, had only ever seen him here in this coffee shop, but there was just something about him. This morning he was wearing a plaid shirt, a pair of worn jeans, and a laptop carrier slung over his broad shoulders.

Over the last couple of weeks, Mickey and the redheaded guy had gotten to talking. Well, not really talking-talking, like getting to know each other talking. More like biting each other shit, and making disparaging remarks about one another’s orders talking.

Was it messed up that it kind of turned Mickey on?

Quickly dropping his gaze before the redhead could catch him staring, Mickey tapped his fingers impatiently against his mug. His eyes darted everywhere; the tabletop, his scuffed work boots, the ceiling. 

Finally, he snuck a quick glance at the redhead.

Who was staring directly at him.

Mickey forced himself to hold that stare, offering the other man a smirk. His pulse kicked up a notch when the guy returned it.

Watching as the redhead carefully lifted his cup off the counter, Mickey felt a tingle of anticipation he headed in Mickey’s direction. He paused just in front of Mickey, giving the free seat a pointed look.

“You gonna bring in a couple cushions next time?” the redhead asked. “Maybe some blankets? So you’re really comfortable.”

“Nope.” Mickey slumped back further in his seat, and met that challenging stare. “I’m good.”

“What’d you get this time?” the redhead asked after a second, nodding at the mug in Mickey’s hands. 

“My usual.”

“What was that again?” 

Mickey took in the teasing light in the guy’s green eyes, and pulled a face at him.

“I’m not gonna say it.” 

“C’mon, please?”

“It’s not even funny anymore.” Rolling his eyes at the pleading expression on the guy’s face, Mickey gave in after a brief pause. “Caramel macchiato.”

That cracked the redhead up. Mickey didn’t normally enjoy being laughed at, but decided he like the sound of this man’s laughter, and the way his eyes crinkled at the corners.

“Don’t know how fuckin’ tea is much better,” Mickey pretended to grumble.

“Too much caffeine isn’t good for me,” the redhead told him.

“An’ that’s fuckin’ tragic.”

The guy shook his head, and was just about to walk away when Mickey stopped him. “Hey, I got a question for you.”

An inquiring look aimed in his direction.

“How does Moses make his tea?”

Understanding dawned, and the guy shook his head adamantly.

“Don’t you do it,” he warned.

“He brews it.” 

“My god, you are such a  _dork_ ,” the redhead said with a groan. Waving Mickey off, the guy left the coffee shop, shaking his head despairingly.

_Oh, yeah._

_Mickey had definitely won that round._

_\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

The next couple of days sucked ass. And not in a fun way. Mickey was exhausted from his nighttime shift working security at the mall–which was boring as fuck–then pulling a half-day shift working construction.

Added to that was the disappointment of not seeing his redheaded sparring partner. For the rest of the week after Mickey had used that god awful pun about the tea, the guy had been conspicuously absent.

But Mickey didn’t have time to hope that the redhead would be at the cafe this morning. Because the place was packed to capacity, hipsters everywhere Mickey looked. He couldn’t even fucking turn around without finding himself confronted by a stupid beard, or an ironic t-shirt.

Muttering under his breath, Mickey snatched his coffee out of the barista’s hand, and then craned his neck to see around the coffee shop. His cursing got more creative when he realised that he wasn’t going to see shit around the crowd of hippies.

It took some aggressive shouldering, and the occasional menacing glare, but Mickey finally made his way over to the last free table. Dropping down into his seat, he then propped his foot up on the chair opposite.

Given the mood he was in, he was kinda looking forward to someone trying to get the chair from him.

Mickey spent the next few minutes glaring at nothing, too busy being annoyed with the world to notice someone heading towards his table until he felt his foot being lifted off the chair across from him.

“The fuck?” he spluttered. 

Only, the words were barely out of his mouth before he found himself staring into a familiar freckled face.

“Mornin’,” the redhead said, grinning at Mickey’s surprise. He settled his mug on the table carefully, and then, never releasing the hold he had on Mickey’s foot, the guy took a seat.

Which was all bad–well, sort of bad–enough, but instead of letting Mickey’s foot drop the floor, the redhead merely settled it in his lap. For the first time in a long while, Mickey had been rendered speechless.

Mickey wondered if he’d look less than mucho if he passed out.

It was fucking ridiculous. For God’s sake, his foot was separated from this guy’s groin by both his shoe and the denim of the redhead’s jeans. Nothing to spring a goddamn boner over.

Only his dick hadn’t gotten the memo.

Acting like nothing out of the ordinary was going on, the redhead started rearranging things on the table, moving his and Mickey’s drinks out the way, and then pulling out his laptop. He unwound the power cord, his long fingers quick and nimble. The action caused Mickey to shift uncomfortably in his seat.

He really liked the look of those fingers. 

“… plug I can use?”

Mickey’s attention snagged on the word  _plug_. Forcing his mind out the gutter, he hurriedly met the guy’s expectant stare. 

“Huh?”

“Is there somewhere I can plug in my computer?” the redhead asked slowly.

Feeling like an ass, Mickey checked his side of the table before shaking his head mutely.

“Damn,” the guy sighed. Pausing to take a sip of his tea, the other man licked his lips before continuing. “So, you wanna go first?”

“With what?” Mickey asked.  _God, he felt like he was trailing along five steps behind this guy._

“Your name.” Meeting Mickey’s non-plussed stare, the redhead shrugged. “Okay, I’ll start. Ian Gallagher; English major; recovering caffeine addict.”

Quickly catching on, Mickey offered his own brief summary, keeping a careful eye on  _Ian’s_  expression.

“Mickey Milkovich; part time security guard, part time construction worker; quitting’s for quitters.”

They grinned at each other for a few seconds, the attraction flaring up between them. 

“I  wanna ask you out for a drink,” Ian told him.

“Yeah?” Mickey tried to ignore the stupid jittery feeling in his stomach.

“Uh-huh. Only, in the interest of full disclosure, I can’t drink.”

“You wanna ask me out for a drink, but  _you_ can’t drink?”

“Gotta stay away from alcohol.”

“No coffee, an’ no booze?” Mickey shook his head. “Sucks to be you, man.”

This time, though, Ian didn’t smile. Instead, he looked nervous.

“They, uh… They both screw with my meds,” he said, the words seeming to run together in his haste to get them out. He was obviously self-conscious about it.

It was weirdly endearing to see some vulnerability underneath all that cockiness.

“No big deal,” Mickey replied, shrugging carelessly. “Figure we can find somethin’ else to do.”

“Really?”

“Sure. We just gotta get a little creative.” 

It was weird, the way Mickey actually meant it. And that was all they said for the next while, each of them sipping their drinks, and with Mickey’s foot resting in Ian’s lap.


End file.
